_ — - GenColl 

• Twenty. - 




MARGARET’S BRIDAL. I 

PZ5. S2^5C>m ® 


IE 


FOUNDED ON FACT. 









I 

I 

I 




I 

I 

I 


Boston: 


PUBLISHED BY WHIPPLE & DAMRELL, jg 

No. 9 CornhilJ. 

{new York: — scofield and voorhies, no. 118 Nassau street. ^ 
PHILADELPHIA I A. FLINT, NO. 223 ARCH STREET. |i| 





FOR 

SOCIAL, FAMILY, AND SCHOOL LIBRARIES. 


For a series of years, great efforts have been made to arouse j 
; the public mind to the enormous evils arising from the sale and | 
use of ardent spirit; and though there are many, yet, so preju- ; 

' diced by appetite or interest, as to be unwilling to see the truth, | 
i; or, seeing it, to be influenced by it, there are thousands of others : 

; now ready to be moved by argument and illustration ; and who | 

; will, if thus prompted, be efficient coadjutors in carrying on ; 

: the Temperance cause to its glorious consummation. 

The series of “ Temperance Tales,” it is believed, is admi- 
rably adapted to promote this end. 

For the information of any who may be unacquainted with the 
character of the Tales, we subjoin the following testimonials : — : 

We, the undersigned, being Intimately acquainted with the i 
Temperance Tales, and with their happy influence upon society, 
do highly approve the plan of introducing them universally into : 
social, family, and school libraries, and cordially recommend 
them for this purpose. 

Benjamin SiLLiMAN, New Haven, Conn. 

Daniel A. White, Salem, Mass. 

Moses Stuart, Andover, Mass. 

John Tappan, Boston. 

Baron Stow, Boston. ; 

Heman Humphrey, Amherst, Mass. 

Edward Hitchcock, Amherst, Mass. 

Elijah Hedding, Lansingburg, N. Y. i 

John C. Warren, Boston. ; 

Henry Ware, Jr., Cambridge. 

Elisha Taylor, Albany. ; 

Eliphalet Nott, Schenectady, N. Y. 

Gerrit Smith, Peterboro’, N. Y. 

Justin Edwards, Andover, Mass. 

Theodore Frelinghuysen, Newark, N. J. 

John H. Cocke, Bremo, Va. 

; [ See 3rf page of cover."] 

i i 


Number Twenty. 


/ 4 f’ 


MARGARET’S BRIDAL. 


FOUNDED ON FACT. 


oC. 


jFfrst ®l)ousanb. 




■ -'<x< OF' 

/i§'00P\'mHt-^s:K 

i"i CO] 

\^No. 

i3 0 s 1 0 n 


PUBLISHED BY WHIPPLE & DAMKELL, 


No. 9 Cornhill. 

wsw York; — scofield and voorhies, no. 118 Nassau street 
PHILADELPHIA: — A. FLINT, NO. 223 ARCH STREET. 


1839 . 








■ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by 
William S. Damrell, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 


*5 b fe 


f 




■’W- 







THE REV. JOHN MARSH, 


CORRESPONDING SECRETARY OF THE AMERICAN TEMPERANCE 
UNION. 


Mt Dear Sir, _ • 

The bagatelle, which I present you, upon 
the following pages, with a formal dedication to 
the Corresponding Secretary of ^ the American 
Temperance Union, reminds me of some little 
urchin, who, in a sportive moment, has over- 
whelmed his brows with his grandfather’s full- 
bottom wig. Nevertheless, as I .am indebted to 
you for the fact, upon which I have constructed 
the story of Margaret’s Bridal, I have taken 
the liberty to inscribe it with your name. In 
truth, this little narrative was written at your par- 
ticular suggestion ; and I can never regret it, since 
it has afforded me legitimate occasion for associa- 
ting with my humble labors the name of one, 
whom I cordially respect and esteem. 

And now, my dear sir, that I have virtually 
made you, nolens vokns, the sponsor for my bant- 
ling, I intend to be quite as reasonable in my de- 
mands, as most fond parents are upon the god- 
fathers of their offspring. In a word, if you will 
vouchsafe to this new-comer a very small share of 
that affectionate interest, which you have so kindly 
bestowed upon every other member of this nu- 
merous family, it will be favored beyond its 
deserts, and I shall not complain of the operation 
of that ancient statute, which gave the first-born 
a double portion.^ 


4 


DEDICATION. 


In this holy enterprise, in which we have been 
fellow-laborers, for many years, no human enjoy- 
ment can be more pure tlian the gratification 
resulting from success. Upon this consecrated 
arena neither riches nor honors are to be gathered, 
of this present world. We are permitted to be- 
hold the long-lost child, dead — ay, buried in his 
trespasses and sins — bursting the bandages of a 
moral death — returning to the trembling arms of 
an aged parent — wives regaining their husbands 
— orphans finding their fathers — the miserable 
drunkard resuming the implements of honest 
industry, gathering up his fallen respectability, 
and, after years of slothful neglect, returning to 
his little ones at last with bread, that they may eat 
and live — the den of sin and misery becoming 
once more the peaceful cottage — the mutual con- 
fidence of its inmates completely reestablished — 
the rum-jug removed forever from its accustomed 
place upon their humble board, and in its stead 
the expanded volume of eternal truth ! Is there 
not enough of reward for all our toil in the de- 
lightful consciousness, that, under God, we have 
had any agency, however subordinate, in the pro- 
duction of such results as these ? I fervently ask 
of Heaven the same blessing upon this present 
effort, which has been vouchsafed upon its prede- 
cessors. May God speed this little messenger 
upon its errand of mercy to the castles of the rich, 
and the cottages of the poor — to the log-houses 
of the far west, and to foreign climes. 

Adieu, my dear sir. May we be permitted to 
labor together in this cause of God and of human- 
ity, for many years ; and may we say of it, with 
our latest breath, in the language of the departing 
patriot to his native land — Esto perpetua ! 


MARGARET^S BRIDAL 


“ Galliopolis ! Yes, sir,” replied 

the captain of the gay little steamer, in which 
we were gliding rapidly downward upon the 
glassy waters of the Ohio ; “ Galliopolis is 
the name of that settlement, and the river, 
whose mouth you see opposite, on the Vir- 
ginia ^ore, is the Great Kenhaway. Colonel 
Byerly,” continued he, turning to a good-look- 
ing, gray-headed, gentlemanly man, who was 
sitting near us upon the upper deck, — “ Colo- 
nel Byerly is an old Buck-eye, and can give 
you all the information you can possibly de- 
sire, in relation to these matters. Give me 
leave. Colonel Byerly, to make you acquaint- 
ed with Mr. Merlin, of Massachusetts. He is 
a stranger in this region, and as you are both 


8 


Margaret’s bridal. 


temperance men, you will not be at a loss for 
a topic of conversation.” — The colonel rose 
with an air of politeness and cordiality, which, 
I seriously fear, was more common, half a cen- 
tury ago, than it is at the present day ; and, 
with something of the formality of military 
manners, introduced me to a gentleman, who 
was conversing with him, a short time before, 
as the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny, of North Carolina. 
‘‘We are all temperance men, I believe,” said 
Colonel Byerly. — “1 trust it is so,” said 
the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny ; “ I know of no 
common ground, upon which entire strangers 
may so easily become friends, as upon the 
temperance ground.” — “ How wonderfully,” 
said the colonel, “ are the very extremities of 
the earth brought closely together, by this 
power of steam! You see yonder, near the 
after part of the boat, a young couple, who 
are returning to Illinois. That young man 
has taken a wife from the shores of the Ken- 
nebeck ; and, if he sets any value upon his 
ears, he will never open his mouth, in her 
hearing, about wooden nutmegs or Yankee no- 


Margaret’s bridal. 


9 


tions. Here, owing to this amazing facility 
of locomotion, here are we three, from distant 
corners of the union, brought together in front 
of Galliopolis.” — “ Pray, sir,” said the cler- 
gyman, does it take its name from Galliopo- 
li, at the mouth of the Sea of Marmora, or from 
Galliopoli in the kingdom of Naples?” — 
“From neither,” replied the colonel, “but 
from the fact, that, many years since, about 
the year 1791, if I rightly recollect, there 
came hither a company of French adventur- 
ers, and settled upon this tract of land. Some 
time after, a defect was discovered in their 
title, and they were accordingly ejected. It 
was their intention to have cultivated the vine, 
upon an extensive-scale ; and, for some partic- 
ular species, it was thought the climate and 
soil would have been very well adapted. It 
was their intention to establish the manufac- 
ture of wine ; and they were very sanguine in . 
relation to the success of their enterprise, until 
they were driven from their Eden in the wil- 
derness, by the power of the law.” — “ What a 
pity,” exclaimed our reverend friend, — “w^hat 


10 


Margaret’s bridal. 


a pity, that they should have been interrupted 
in such a career of active benevolence ! ’’ — 
For a moment, 1 supposed this remark to 
have been uttered in the spirit of irony. A 
single glance convinced me of my error ; and, 
at that instant, I recollected, that, in the earli- 
er stages of the temperance reform, and while 
its fundamental principles were as yet imper- 
fectly considered, a benevolent physician, in 
the metropolis of New England, established 
an extensive brewery, in aid of the temper- 
ance cause, ‘‘Do you think, sir,” said I, 
addressing myself respectfully to the clergy- 
man, — “ do you think, sir, that the introduction 
of the vine into our country, with a view to 
the manufacture of wdne upon an extensive 
scale, would be a blessing ? ” — “ Can there 
be a doubt of it ? ” he replied, — “I should 
think there might be,” said a pale young man, 
in rusty black, who had joined our little circle, 
and whom I conjectured, correctly, as I after- 
wards ascertained, to be himself a clergyman. 
The Rev. Mr. M’Ninny gazed upon this young 
man, who had presumed to doubt the cor- 


Margaret’s bridal. 


11 


rectness of his opinions, with an expression, 
which did not strike me as altogether evangel- 
ical. I am an ardent friend of temperance,’’ 
said he, but I am not an ultraist. There is 
a great amount of ultraism at the present day, 
and this excellent cause of temperance has 
come in for a bountiful share of it.” — Pray, 
sir,” said the young man, with a manner alto- 
gether unexceptionable, will you give me a 
definition of ultraism ? ” — “ Give you a defi- 
nition of ultraism ? Yes, sir, I will,” replied 
the other ; “ ultraism, sir, is — is — that is to 
say, ultraism in temperance is a sort of — a 
species of intemperance itself, sir. It is going 
beyond reasonable bounds.” — ‘‘Well, sir,” 
said the young man, “ on the whole, I think 
your definition of ultraisrh a good one; and 
now the question returns in this form — what 
are reasonable bounds ? ” — “ Reasonable 
bounds,” replied Mr. M’Ninny, “ are the old 
bounds, to be sure. While the friends of tem- 
perance confined their operations to the sup- 
pression of the use of ardent spirit, their labors 
were attended with success. But now the 


12 


Margaret’s bridal. 


ultraists are bringing ruin on the best of causes. 
Wine is a blessing, and so are all fermented 
liquors. Fermentation is God’s work f distil- 
lation is man’s work.” — “ Stranger,” said a 
raw-boned Kentuckian, who had listened in 
silence for some time, “ both on em’s the 
devil’s work, I tell ye. I’ve tried ’em all, and 
been jest as crazy as a ’coon with a slug in his 
ear, ’pon every one on ’em, from streaked ale 
up e’enamost t’ akyfortus.” 

Sir,” said . the young man, after the Ken- 
tuckian’s unexpected sortie had produced its 
effect, and the laughter, which it had occa- 
sioned, had subsided, “ it seems to me thete is 
but one simple question to be settled, and that 
is a question of fact — are fermented liquors, 
or, rather, is any one fermented liquor sufficient 
now, as it was of old, for the production of 
personal, domestic, and national drunkenness ? 
We have the clearest evidence, that the greater 
part of the drunkenness of Great Britain, at 
the present day, is produced by the use of fer- 
mented liquor, especially of beer. The pop- 
ular delusion, respecting the temperance of 


Margaret’s bridal. 


13 


-France and other wine-producing countries, is 
at an end. This error has arisen from a long- 
continued supposition that the effects of drunk- 
enness were similar, however produced. The 
wretch, stupefied and prostrate in the gutter, 
under the influence of ardent spirit or strong 
beer — the assassin, whose eyes are open, 
whose muscular power is absolutely increased, 
but whose reason is utterly dethroned, under 
the stimulus of light wines — these are both 
equally drunk. If the evils of drunkenness 
are to be entailed upon us, as a nation, and 
we may be permitted to choose for ourselves 
the means of intoxication, we shall avoid in- 
calculable evils, by selecting ardent spirits 
instead of fermented liquors. We shall there- 
by greatly diminish the amount of domestic 
misery. In either case the drunkard will be a 
drunkard still ; and it will be of little conse- 
quence, in regard to himself, whether the hand 
of death do its work earlier or later, by the 
brief space of a few days, or weeks, or months. 
In relation to his miserable household and to 
all around him, it is far otherwise.’’ — “Jest 


14 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


SO,” cried the Kentuckian, ‘‘jest so my wife 
used to say ; said she, ‘ Eleezur, if you will 
git drunk,’ said she, ‘ for Heaven’s sake git 
drunk right off on whisky ; then you’ll tumble 
into the house head foremost, and the boys 
and I’ll be able to git ye to bed, and ye’ll sleep 
it off, and there’s an eend on’t for that bout. 
But for massy’s sake don’t git drunk on cider, 
ye’re so long a gittin drunk, and so cross and 
rampaugy the hull time, kickin the children 
about, and gittin so crazy that ye don’t know 
frind from foe ; git drunk on whisky, Eleezur, 
do now, there’s a nice man, but don’t git drunk 
on cider.’ ” 

These shots from the Kentuckian’s rifle 
were exceedingly annoying to the Rev. Mr. 
M’Ninny, who thought proper to neutralize 
the power of this irregular opponent, by a per- 
plexing interrogatory. — “ My friend,” said 
he, “ you appear to be a veiy zealous advo- 
cate for temperance ; are you a member of the 
society ? ” — “ I be, stranger,” he replied ; “ I 
joined it about a year ago ; and my wife says 
she’s got sothin to live for now, and afore she 


Margaret’s bridal. 


15 


wished herself dead ; that’s the differ ; and the 
children aren’t afear’d o’ me now no time o’ 
day, nor night neither. I don’t ’spose you’d 
approve o’ our society, accordin to your talk, 
for we go the hull figur. Our doctor’s joined 
it, but we can’t get Parson Roundy nor Law- 
yer Flayer to come in no how. The squire 
doubts whether its constitutional ; and Parson 
Roundy says its agin Scriptur. Kentuck’s a 
doin better for temperance than you think for, 
stranger, I tell ye.” 

The occasional laughter, which had been 
elicited by the quaint remarks of this honest 
backwoodsman, had made our circle an object 
of no small attraction ; and some thirty or 
forty passengers had already gathered to the 
spot. 

“ The wine of old,” continued the young 
clergyman, contained no other alcohol than 
such as resulted from its own fermentation. 
Distillation was unknown. Of course, no dis- 
tilled spirit was added. The very reverse of 
this is true of the modem wine of commerce. 
It is highly enforced with distilled alcohol. 


16 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


The wine of old was strong enough, compara- 
tively weak and innocent as it was, to intoxi- 
cate Noah, and Lot, and Belshazzar, and even 
the primitive Corinthian disciples, around the 
table of their Lord. It was strong enough to 
bring down that curse of dnmkenness upon all 
Jerusalem, which God Almighty denounced 
by the lips of Jeremiah. Now, as man is 
precisely the thing he then was, so far as re- 
spects his liability to be made drunk, by such 
means of drunkenness as were then employed, 
upon what ground can we anticipate for our- 
selves a different result from the operation of 
causes precisely similar? If distilled spirit 
were forever and entirely abolished from the 
earth, yet if wine, the pure, unenforced wine 
of old remained, drunkenness, as of old, 
would remain, the very same personal, do- 
mestic, and national curse. How much more 
probable would be this result from the employ- 
ment of the modern wine of commerce ! ” — 
“ I reckon you’d better come down, stranger,” 
said the Kentuckian, addressing himself to 
the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny. — Come down ! ” 


MARGARET’S BRIDAL. 


17 


replied he, I know not what you mean by 
coming down.’’ — “ Well, then,” said the 
Kentuckian, I’ll jest tell ye. Ye see there 
was a feller was a tellin how many ’coons he’d 
killed in a day. He made a dreadful swag- 
ger on it ; I b’lieve my soul he said he’d 
killed a hundred afore dinner. There was 
another ieller, a neighbor o’ mine, lives a purty 
considerable piece above my log on Boon’s 
Lick. He didn’t believe fhe tother, ye see ; so 
he ups to him arter this fashin ; says he, 
‘You kill’d a hundred ^ifore dinner, did ye?’ 
‘Yes, I did,” said the tother; ‘bagged jest 
ninety-seven; three fell in the gullies, and I 
couldn’t git ’em.’ — ‘ That are’s nothin,’ said 
he ; ‘why, there’s Ginral Sweeny up our Lick, 
he’s fetched down a hundred and forty afore 
breakfast. The ’coons knew he never missed, 
and they got out of his way as soon as. ever 
they see him. There was one confounded 
sly old ’coon ; he’d lost his tail and one paw ; 
no body could touch him over ; but one day 
the ginral was out, and he got a fair sight o’ 
this old ’coon, clean up in the tip top of a black 


18 


Margaret’s bridal. 


walnut. Up went the rifle, and the ginral 
cries out, ‘ Ha, Jocco, I’ve got ye at last.’ 
Jocco looked down, and he no sooner see who 
’twas, than he cried out, ‘ Don’t fire, ginral ; if 
its you I’ll come down!’ ’Twas that I was 
a thinkin on, when I told ye, stranger, that 
ye’d better come down.” — The shout of 
laughter, which followed this last speech of the 
Kentuckian, literally shook the timbers of our 
little steamer, and gathered almost the whole 
company around us. 

“ Well,” said Colonel Byerly, I am not a 
member of the Temperance Society, but I 
believe it to be entitled to the respect of every 
reflecting man, and of every patriot. If I were 
asked the question, why I am not a member 
of the society, it would probably take me 
some time to furnish a reason, which would 
satisfy myself or any body else.” — ‘‘I reckon 
the folks are more than half right, colonel,” 
said the Kentuckian. — “ Half right,” said 
the colonel with a smile, in what respect ? ” 
— “ Why, they all say,” replied the back- 
woodsman, that you’re an honest man,” — 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


19 


Be that as it may,” continued Colonel By- 
erly, “ whenever I conclude to join a tem- 
perance society, it must be one, whose princi- 
ples of action are consistent and perfectly 
intelligible. If the object of the society be 
the prevention of intoxication, a pledge of ab- 
stinence should run, it seems to me, against 
all intoxicating drinks ; and, strictly speaking, 
against all intoxicating substances. A pledge 
of abstinence from ardent spirits is an imper- 
fect thing ; for the party may be as drunk as 
he pleases upon cider, wine, or beer. If we 
were surrounded by our enemies, it would be 
accounted miserable generalship to concentrate 
all our forces in front, leaving our flanks and 
rear without any protection. It is perfectly ab- 
surd to speak of wine as a harmless beverage. 
During the old war, the war of the revolution, 
the officers of the regiment, to which I was 
attached, became fully persuaded, that brandy 
was a mischievous beverage. Its evil effects 
had become too apparent. Some of our num- 
ber were evidently getting into a very bad 
way. The idea of a temperance society, ex- 
2 


20 


Margaret’s bridal. 


tending its influence over the whole civilized 
earth, was no more in our thoughts, at that 
time, than the idea of a steamboat or a loco- 
motive engine upon a railway. Nevertheless 
it appeared absolutely necessary to the most 
reflecting of our corps, that some plan should 
be devised, for the prevention of that intem- 
perance, which was becoming rather too char- 
acteristic among the gentlemen of the army. 
We therefore resolved to make no use of 
brandy for one year. A few of us set the 
example, and subscribed an agreement to that 
effect, which in less than a fortnight was 
signed by every officer in the regiment. It 
was proposed to include rum, and offer the 
paper to the whole regiment, rank and file. 
To this there were serious objections. We, 
at that time, never imagined such a thing as 
total abstinence. We no more thought of 
cold water for drink, than of raw pork for 
diet. Indeed we had already clubbed our 
purses for the purchase of a suitable quantity 
of wine. It seemed hardly fair, therefore, as 
the common soldiers could not afford the pur- 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


21 


chase of wine, to call on them for a resigna- 
tion of their grog, offering no other substitute 
than cold water. We therefore limited our 
project to the officers of the regiment. The 
experiment went into immediate operation. 
We tried it about three months, and aban- 
doned it in utter despair. The vice became 
more social ; we tarried longer over the 
bottle ; we became more talkative, dispu- 
tatious, and even quarrelsome ; and I well 
remember that one prominent subject-matter 
of altercation was the unaccountable facility, 
with which our whole stock of wine was 
drunk out. We gave it up, and went back to 
brandy.” — “ The greatest blessmg may be 
abused, colonel,” said the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny: 

we have the higliest audiority for the use 
of wine. Paul recommended it to Timothy.”* 
— “ He did,” said the young clergyman, “ for 
his infirmities ; let wine then be kept for the 
sick, if it be thought necessary by the facul- 
ty ; and, since we- cannot have an inspired 
apostle at our elbows to prescribe it, let us 
abstain from its employment, until we have at 


22 


Margaret’s bridal. 


least the prescription of a conscientious tem- 
perance physician.”- — ‘‘We have a higher 
authority than Paul, that of Christ himself,” 
said the other. — “ Sir,” said the young man, 
with great solemnity of manner, “I am al- 
ways shocked when mere men of the world 
defend their habit of drinking wine, by the 
example of our blessed Redeemer. I cannot 
describe my feelings, when the practice of 
wine-drinking is defended upon the strength 
of this holy example, by a minister of the 
gospel. It is not possible for him to set up 
this authority for himself, and not for the 
world ; for the most temperate, and not for the 
most intemperate of mankind. He may draw 
jiice distinctions ; others will not. The author- 
ity, if applied at all, is applied universally ; and 
*its advantages are claimed by all, if allowed 
to any. Intemperance is a gradual affair, 
from the" first trifling excess to the grossest 
debauchery. The transitions are often im- 
perceptible, by him, who makes them. From 
first to last, his moral vision becoming the 
more depraved, the farther he advances, the 


Margaret’s bridal. 


23 


intemperate man is incapable of perceiving 
any difference between himself and his more 
temperate, wine-drinking neighbor. It is 
enough, they both drink wine ; and each jus- 
tifies his conduct, by the example of the Re- 
deemer. Can any thing be conceived more 
awfully revolting than this ? ” — “ You are 
very fluent, sir, for so young a man,” said the 
Rev. Mr. M’Ninny, evidently nettled by the 
remarks of his younger brother j “ it is my 
deliberate opinion, that he, who holds there is 
any impropriety in drinking wine, insults the 
memory of his Redeemer.” — ‘‘I regret my 
youth, sir,” the young clergyman replied, if 
it be any obstacle, in your estimation, to the 
progress of sound doctrine. We are taught, 
however, to let no man despise it, while we 
are struggling against any opinion, which we 
conscientiously believe to be heretical. It 
seems to me that there are so many ways, in 
which a sincere disciple may testify his love 
and reverence for his Lord and Master, that 
it is scarcely necessary to resort to the expe- 
dient of drinking wine. We may preach his 


24 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


gospel to all nations. We may select some 
barren spot, and toil over the moral wilder- 
ness, till it blossom like the rose. We may 
take upon our shoulders the smallest fragment 
of the cross ; and I ask you, reverend sir, if 
you do not in your heart believe, that such 
service will be more acceptable to our blessed 
Master, than drinking wine to his honor and 
glory ? ” — Young man ! ’’ exclaimed the 
Rev. Mr. M’Ninny, with an uplifted fin- 
ger, “ you forget yourself ; your language is' 
'absolutely irreverent and impious.” — “ God 
forbid,” said the young clergyman, with an 
expression of sincere devotion upon his fea- 
tures, which impressed me and all around 
him, I believe, with a feeling of respect and 
confidence ; ‘‘ God forbid, sir,” said he, “ that 
I should suffer any thing irreverent or impious 
to pass these lips, which have been conse- 
crated to the service of Heaven. If there be 
aught in my remark, which savors of irrever- 
ence or impiety, it springs not from me or my 
language, but arises from the faithful exhibi- 
tion of the idea — the idea of manifesting 


Margaret’s bridal. 


25 


one’s love and reverence for the Savior of 
mankind, by drinking wine ! If this be one 
of the tasks, imposed upon his followers, 
verily the burden is light.” — “ Pray, sir,” 
said the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny, in a tone some- 
what subdued, for he already began to per- 
ceive that his antagonist was not to be 
despised; “pray, sir,” said he, “did not 
Christ convert water into wine at the wedding 
feast in Cana of Galilee ? Was he not him- 
self a guest, and was not the wine, which he 
made, furnished in abundance at that festival, 
and with his entire approbation ? ” — All eyes 
were turned upon the young clergyman, in 
expectation of his reply. He seemed over- 
whelmed with this unexpected interrogatory ; 
and, for some time, continued to bow down 
his head, literally, like a bulrush. The Rev. 
Mr. M’Ninny had already gathered courage 
from the apparent confusion of his antagonist, 
and, being disposed to make the most of his 
victory, exclaimed, “ Well, sir, you find your- 
self perplexed for an answer, I see, and I do 
not wonder at your confusion, young man.” 


26 


Margaret’s bridal. 


— I am not perplexed for an answer,” said 
the young clergyman, in a melancholy tone 
of voice, at the same time raising his eyes 
upon his adversary. We were all greatly 
surprised to perceive that they were filled 
with tears, and a feverish glow had suddenly 
spread itself over his pale features. — “I am 
in no confusion, reverend sir,” continued he ; 

but you have approached a subject of deeper 
and more painful interest to me than you can 
possibly imagine.” — At this moment the bell 
announced that dinner was upon the table. 

If you conceive it to be worth your trouble, 
sir,” continued the young clergyman, to give 
any further attention to my remarks, and will 
meet me here after our repast, I foresee, at 
this moment, no insurmountable difficulty in 
the way of furnishing a satisfactory reply to 
your interrogatories.” — ‘‘Very well, sir,” 
said the other. — The group instantly dis- 
persed ; and, whatever might have been the 
diversity of opinion, respecting the subject 
under discussion, the most perfect unanimity 
appeared now to prevail. All, with one con- 


Margaret’s bridal. 


27 


sent, rushed down the companion-way into 
the cabin, and we soon found our places^ 
round the well-furnished table of the steamer. 
I had Colonel Byerly, on my right hand,, 
and our honest friend from Boon’s Lick had 
taken his place, upon my left. ‘‘ Colonel 
Byerly,” said I, “ do you know the name of 
this young man ? ” — ‘‘ No, sir,” he replied,, 
^^but our friend, M’Ninny, had better not 
have meddled with him ; he has gotten his 
hands full, if I am not greatly mistaken.” — 
Colonel,” said the Kentuckian, “ an’t he a 
smart un ? don’t he hold on jest like a bear- 
trap, don’t he, colonel ? ” — He is an intel- 
ligent young man, friend Kennedy,” replied 
the colonel ; I never saw him before.” — 
“ He seemed to hang 6re a leetle mite,” said 
the Kentuckian, ‘‘tow’rds the last on’t, but 
my old rifle will do jest so, now and then, 
and . there’s no better in old Kentuck.” — 
‘‘No, no, Kennedy,” said Colonel Byerly, 

“ he didn’t hang fire, as you call it, but he 
reserved his fire, as we military folks phrase 
it. M’Ninny was mistaken in the supposi- 
3 


28 


Margaret’s bridal. 


tion, which he evidently indulged, that his 
opponent was perplexed by his questions. 
Something, I know not what, affected the 
young man’s feelings in a very sudden and 
extraordinary manner. I know not who he 
is. He may be the worse clothed and fed of 
the two ; but if our friend M’Ninny will only 
stand fire this afternoon, he’ll get grape and 
canister to his heart’s content, or I have 
mistaken my man entirely.” — “ I’m afeard, 
colonel,” said the Kentuckian, “ that tother 
bird’ll show the white feather, may be won’t 
come up to the scratch at all, ey, colonel ? ” 

— “ Never fear him for that, Kennedy,” re- 
plied Colonel Byerly. ‘‘ True courage clearly 
foresees and deliberately weighs the peril it 
encounters; rashness rushes to the onset 
without care or calculation. I know the 
character of our reverend friend right well : 
he will not shun the contest, depend upon it.” 

— “Well, colonel, like as not you’re right,” 
said the Kentuckian ; “ there’s my old sorrel ; 
he’s blind as a beetle, stubborn as a mule, 
stupid as an ass, and bold as a lion. Off he 


Margaret’s bridal. 


29 


goes, slap dash, and fetches up in a ditch, nine 
times out o’ ten.” — “ The reverend gentle- 
man,” said I, “ appears to be fortifying for 
the occasion.” — ‘‘Fags, stranger,” said the 
Kentuckian, “ and so he is ; he’s a drinkin 
wine or sothen, accordin to Scriptur.” — We 
glanced our eyes along the table, at which 
some sixty passengers were seated ; only one 
of the whole company had called for any in- 
toxicating beverage ; the only decanter upon 
the board was before the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny. 
Shortly after, it was brought round by the 
waiter, with the reverend gentleman’s compli- 
ments to Colonel Byerly, and a request to 
take wine with him. “ Return it to the gen- 
tleman with my respects,” said Colonel Byer- 
ly, “ and say, that, with his permission, I will 
pledge him in a glass of water.” — “Well 
done, colonel ! ” cried the Kentuckian, “ if 
I don’t tell our folks o’ that ! How my old 
Jarman neighbor, Snooder, who’s all for 
temp’rance, will shout, when he hears that an 
old revolutioner wouldn’t drink wine with a 
minister o’ the gospel, accordin to Scriptur ! 


30 


Margaret’s bridal. 


ha, ha, ha ! ’’ — “ Such incidents as these,” 
said I, “ have an injurious influence upon the 
clerical character, and, with the undiscrimina- 
ting mass, upon the cause of religion itself.” 
— “ No doubt of it,” replied Colonel Byerly ; 
^‘you see how it is; having taken the promi- 
nent position, which he has assumed, during 
the morning, all eyes are, at this moment, 
directed towards him and his decanter. In 
the present condition of public sentiment, such 
conduct appears to me exceedingly unfortu- 
nate in a minister of the gospel. If it appears 
so to me, who am not a member of the Tem- 
perance Society, how must it appear to those 
who are — a clergyman, himself a member of 
the society, drinking his wine, in one of our 
great, locomotive taverns — at the public table 
of a steamboat! This is something worse 
than a mere work of supererogation.” — 
‘‘ W ell, colonel, I don’t know what sort of a 
work ’tis,” said the Kentuckian, ‘‘ but I do 
know this gentleman and our Parson Roundy 
would go together in double harness, as kind 
as any two old stagers that ever you see. 


Margaret’s bridal. 


31 


You heerM what he said about wine at the 
wedding. Well, there was a wedding at 
Parson Roundy’s house, about five months 
ago ; ’twas jest arter our Total Abstinence 
Society had got under way, and was purty 
pop’lar among our folks. About twenty o’ 
their frinds got together, with the bride and 
bridegroom ; they was all youngish people. 
So when Parson Roundy had married ’em, he' 
goes into his closet, and out he comes with his 
face as round and shiny, as the lid of a bran 
new w'arming-pan, holdin in his hand a sarver 
with glasses and a decanter o’ wine. So, ye 
see, he pours out a couple o’ glasses, and 
hands one on ’em to the bride, and t’other to 
the bridegroom. ‘ I’m not peticlar about ta- 
kin any,’ said the bride. ^ No occasion for 
any, thankee, sir,’ said the bridegroom. Par- 
son Roundy hemm’d as rough as a saw-mill ; 
he always does when he’s put out ; so on he 
went, handin the liquor to one arter another, 
till he’d got through the hull boodle on ’em ; 
and not a mother’s son nor darter would touch 
the valley of a spunful. ‘ Well,’ said he, as 


32 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


gruffly as a bull-frog with the throat distemper, 
‘ I should suppose you were all of ye mem- 
bers of the cold water society.’ — ^ I b’lieve 
we be, sir,’ said one on ’em, with a giggle, as 
she look’d round upon the rest. ‘Yes, Par- 
son Roundy,’ said the bridegroom, ‘we thought 
as how we should be as well off not to med- 
dle with edge tools ; so Jerusha and I signed 
the pledge afore we got married ! ’ — Parson 
Roundy didn’t like it ; he looked like a red 
pepper. So what d’ye think he does; he 
call’d in his two young children, and he told 
each on ’em to drink the health o’ the bride 
and bridegroom. There, colonel, what d’ye 
think of that ? ” — “ Why, I think,” replied 
the colonel, “ that your Parson Roundy must 
be a terrible blockhead.” 

“ I believe, sir,” said a gentleman, who sat 
directly opposite to us at the table, addressing 
Colonel Byerly, “ I believe you were desirous 
of knowing the name of the young clergyman, 
who was engaged this morning in the discus- 
sion with the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny.” — “ Can 
you inform us ? ” inquired the colonel. “ His 


Margaret’s bridal. 


33 


name, sir,” replied the other, Egerton. 
He was settled, about three years ago, over a 

small parish in the village of . He is 

an excellent young man. You remarked, 
sir, that he might not be so well clothed or 
fed as his antagonist. He is poor, yet making 
many rich. His ministry has been followed 
by God^s blessing in a remarkable manner. 
His humble flock are very strongly attached 
to him. They have clubbed their little offer- 
ings together, and thereby supplied the means 
of travelling, and they have compelled him 
to take a respite from his labors. With his 
salary, — and it is very small, — he maintains a 
mother and sister, both in infirm health. His 
sister has labored, for some years, under a dis- 
tressing melancholy, and has appeared, at 
times, to have lost her reason entirely. You 
may see them now sitting together at the up- 
per end of the table.” 

We turned our eyes upon the group ; and 
readily recognized Mr. Egerton, whom we 
had not noticed before, since we took our 
seats at the table-. He was placed between 


34 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


an elderly lady, some five and sixty years of 
age, who appeared quite infirm, and one about 
twenty-eight or thirty, whose whole appear- 
ance attracted our particular attention. I 
thought I had never seen the marks and num- 
bers of settled melancholy, more firmly rivetted 
upon the human countenance. She has 
been very beautiful,” said Colonel Byerly. — 
“ She retains something of her former appear- 
ance,” said our informant. “ I remember the 
time, when Margaret Egerton was decidedly 
the most lovely creature I ever beheld, and 
that was not many years ago. She had a fine 
color then, but she is now, as you see, ex- 
ceedingly pale ; her features have become 
sharpened, and her eyes, which were uncom- 
monly fine, are now seldom turned upon those 
of any other.” — We looked upon this young 
woman with increasing interest. The ar- 
rangement of her dress and hair wore certain 
slight indications of negligence, which, while 
they offended not at all against the laws of 
propriety, seemed silently to say — ‘ Pride is not, 
and hope has gone.’ Her eyes seemed fixed 


Margaret’s bridal. 


35 


on vacancy, while with her finger she ap- 
peared to be tracing unmeaning characters 
upon the table before her. Can any cause 
be assigned,” said I, addressing our informant, 
“ for this young lady’s melancholy ? ” — 
“ Yes, sir,” he replied. Her story is a sad 
one, and the circumstances are well known to 
me ; but it would be impossible to give you 
any satisfactory account of it, situated as 
we are, at this moment.” — “ Colonel Byer- 
ly,” said the Kentuckian, I’m a thinkin it’ll 
be hardly a fair scratch to pit them two agin 
each other. That young man looks jest as 
white as a sheet, and as streaked as a ’possum 
that’s been kept on short allowance all winter ; 
and the tother — there, only see, he’s takin 
another glass — I’ve seen him take three — I 
wonder where he finds Scriptur for all that — 
only look at him ; he’s a gettin the steam up 
purty considerable, I tell ye — how faarce he 
looks ! — I wouldn’t like to be one o’ five ali- 
gators to match him, no time o’ day. Don’I 
ye think, colonel, when they both go up and 
git at it, if the old tin’s gittin the young un 


36 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


on the hip, or the like o’ that, ’twould 4)e a 
kind o’ charitable for me to let off a leetle, and 
kittle the old feller a mite, ’twixt the joints 
o’ the harness, ey, colonel ? ” — “ Let them 
have a fair field, friend Kennedy,” replied 
Colonel Byerly. ‘‘ Neither make nor meddle. 
I have seen pale faces, in my time, in the 
thickest of the fight. You can no more judge 
of a man’s courage by his complexion than of 
a horse’s wind and bottom by the length of his 
tail.” — Haw, haw, haw, now, colonel,” 
cried the Kentuckian, ‘‘ you’d eenamost set a 
skillinton alarfin.” — ‘‘ You remember Pincher, 
the little drummer, don’t you?” said Colonel 
Byerly. — Remember him ! ” said Kenne- 
dy ; ‘‘ why, I seed him last week ; he’s one o’ 
my next neighbors, only four-and-twenty miles 
above. He always speaks o’ you with great 
respect, colonel. He’s in the drovin line 
now ; he told me, t’other day, when I met 
him, nigh Little Hockin, where he was arter 
critturs, that he’d give a prime beef if he 
could only git a grip o’ Colonel Byerly’s hand 
once more afore he died.” — Did he really ? ” 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


37 


said the colonel, with an expression of gratefiil 
emotion. “ That was more than I expected 
of Pincher. I’ve ordered him a dozen, more 
than once, well laid on, for robbing a hen- 
roost. He was the biggest thief in the army. 
I suppose the poor fellow' has not forgotten 
the good turn I did him on one occasion. I 
know not how much he has 'altered in his 
appearance since then.” — He’s older, o’ 
course,” said the Kentuckian, gray as a 
badger, thin as a raal weasel, and jest as pale 
as a white fish. I don’t reckon he’s altered a 
mite these twenty years. He’s got the very 
drum he beat in the old war. Somebody 
stole one o’ the sticks, and you never see sich 
a touse as he made about it. The old man 
gets his drum out the fourth o’ July, afore 
light, and drums all round town, like all pos- 
sessed, followed by every boy and dog in the 
village.” — “ Well,” said Colonel Byerly, 
he was the most contemptible piece of hu- 
manity, to look upon, the meanest and the 
most forlorn, that we had in our regiment ; 
pale, diminutive, downcast in the extreme. 


38 


Margaret’s bridal. 


He beat an excellent drum, and this seemed 
to be the best of him. Notwithstanding all 
this, he had the courage of a real dragon. 
He had a great fiiendship for Tim Hendricks, 
a fifer in the same company. At the horrible 
affair of the Miami villages, where St. Claii* 
was routed, poor Hendricks was shot dead by 
an Indian, who sprang forward to take his 
scalp. Pincher flew at him, and I saw him, 
with my own eyes, run the Indian through 
with the sword in his right hand, while he still 
kept up rattling a charge on his drum with 
the other. But the tables were about being 
turned upon poor Pincher. Three or four of 
the Sioux, who saw their comrade fall, rushed 
at once upon the poor drummer. After a 
vigorous defence of himself, for a very brief 
space, against the first assailant, he perceived 
that there was no chance for him, against such 
fearful odds ; and he began to think, that his 
legs, though not much bigger, might be of 
more service to him, at that period, than his 
drumsticks. He instantly turned to run. The 
Indian, lifting his tomahawk, sprang forward, 


Margaret’s bridal. 


39 


and seized him by the hair. Pincher, it 
seems, wore a wig. I never suspected it be- 
fore. This remained in the hand of the aston- 
ished Indian ; and to this circumstance alone 
the poor drummer owed his preservation at 
that moment. The other Indians, however, 
were pressing upon his heels. I witnessed 
the scene at a short distance, and, with two or 
three riflemen who were near me, hastened 
to the spot, and rescued the poor fellow 
from his peril, which certainly was imminent. 
When you see Pincher, do not forget to tell 
him that I have recently heard news of his 
wig. The identical Sioux, who took Pincher’s 
wig at St. Clair’s defeat, was seen with the wig 
upon his head, not many years ago, by Mr. 
Flint, the author of Recollections in the Val- 
ley of the Mississippi.* A very pale face 
and a very stout heart,” continued the colo- 
nel, “ are not unfrequently found in the same . 
individual. I recollect a remarkable illustration 
of this truth, which occurred during Queen 
Anne’s wars. The Earl of Stair had ob- 


Flint’s ‘‘ Recollections,” &c. p. 155. 


40 


Margaret’s bridal. 


tained some successes over the French, and, 
on the very day of the battle, some of the 
captured French officers were invited by his 
lordship to dinner, in his quarters. One of 
them, a French colonel of infantry, differing 
from the earl, in regard to some particular in- 
cident of the battle, the earl called upon his 
aide-de-camp, Lord Mark Kerr, for a confirma- 
tion of the statement. Lord Mark was a very 
small man, with a very pale face, wholly unat- 
tractive to the eye, and one of the very last men, 
whom you would have chosen, on the strength 
of his personal appearance, if you had been in 
search of a chevalier. He very fully confirmed 
the statement of his uncle, the Earl of Stair. 
Whereupon the French officer, in some way or 
other, without the employment of any particu- 
larly offensive expression, contrived to offer 
him an insult. Frenchmen are very clever at 
this, you know ; without uttering a syllable, 
they can convey an insult, by a shrug of the 
shoulder, or in the very manner, in which they 
take a pinch of snuff, in your presence. Lord 
Mark Kerr took not the least apparent notice 


Margaret’s bridal. 


41 


of the occurrence. An unpleasant sensation, 
however, was produced, and the entertain- 
ment passed off rather dryly to the close. 
About three quarters of an hour after all the 
company had departed. Lord Mark returned 
alone. He found his uncle walking to and 
fro, with an anxious countenance. ‘ Nephew,’ 
said he, ‘it is inexpressibly painful to me, by 
any suggestion of mine, to lead one, whorn I 
love so truly, into peril. You know my ab- 
horrence of these rules of honor. I wish they 
were abolished by common consent, and oth- 
ers, founded in common sense, substituted in 
their stead. But, as it is, it is utterly impossi- 
ble for military men, at the present day, to 
permit an insult to pass with impunity. The 
French colonel offered you a direct insult, at 
my table, to-day. Every one perceived it.’ 
— ‘ Give yourself no uneasiness on that ac- 
count, my lord,’ replied his nephew ; ‘ I have 
called him to account. — They are now bury- 
ing him in the outer court.’ * I will give you 
another remarkable example. In the year 


* Wraxall’s “ Memoirs.” 


42 


Margaret’s bridal. 


seventeen hundred and ” — Colonel,” 

said the Kentuckian, rising from his seat, 
“ s’pose you put that off till arter supper ; it’ll 
be hog and hom’ny to me to hear ye talk it 
over about the revlutioners, till midnight. But 
ye see they’re all gone up, and I reckon, by 
the noise overhead, they’ve got at it.” — 
True, true,” said Colonel Byerly ; I had 
quite forgot it ; let us go up.” 

We were soon upon the deck. The noise 
appeared to be occasioned by a fellow, whose 
bloated countenance and shabby garments, of 
the most fashionable cut withal, were evidently 
the insignia of dissipation and dirt. He was 
surrounded by a goodly number of the passen- 
gers, who were listening to his song. I ob- 
served Parson M’Ninny, not- within the circle 
precisely, but within hearing, leaning over 
the tafferel, and smoking a cigar. When this 
wretched singer of vicious doggerel came to 
the chorus, which was of frequent occurrence, 
the eyes of the whole group were turned upon 
the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny. I caught the last 
words — 


Margaret’s bridal. 


43 


“ He’ll chat with a lass, 

And he’ll take off his glass, 

And he is the parson for me.” 

Very well,” said Colonel Byerly, as we 
turned away in disgust, ‘‘ this is all perfectly 
fair ; if a clergyman, in the present condition 
of public sentiment, purified as it is, on cer- 
tain subjects, will take his glass and his cigar, 
and openly defend the practice, he gets no 
more than his deserts.” — Our Kentucky 
friend soon reported, that the Rev. Mr. Eger- 
ton was no where upon deck. I had there- 
fore no other occupation than gazing upon the 
beautiful river, and the scenery around, and 
listening to the interesting remarks of my new 
acquaintances. “ Really,” said Colonel By- 
erly, “ we have made more progress than I 
supposed ; we have gotten below the Big 
Guyundat, haven’t we ? ” — To be sure,” 
replied Kennedy ; “ we’re nigh upon Old Ken- 
tuck ; there, stranger,” he continued, turning 
to me, that are fine stream ye see, comin in 
from the left side, is the Great Sandy ; some 
folks call it the Totteiy River ; when we pass 
4 


44 


Margaret’s bridal. 


the mouth on’t, we’ll be alongside of Old 
Kentuck. That river’s the boundary ’twixt 
Ken tuck and Virginny. We’ll then be jest 
forty-five miles below Galliopolis. When the 
lawyers made them French frogs hop off in a 
hurry, congress took pity on ’em, and gin ’em 
a restin place, a leetle further down ; we han’t 
come to’t yet. It’s on t’other side. None on 
’em come to Kentuck. The colonel can tell 
ye all about that, stranger ; it’s on his side o’ 
the river.” — ‘‘Yes,” said Colonel Byerly, 
“ the French emigrants were settled after- 
wards about Burrsburgh, which we shall come 
to presently, on the right bank. The town 
was laid out by Jean Gabriel Gervais, whom I 
remember well, and was part of a tract of 
twenty-four thousand acres granted them by 
congress.” 

At this moment, some one near us said, 
“ He’s coming up ; ” and, looking round, we 
perceived Mr: Egerton, the young clergyman, 
ascending from the cabin, and advancing 
slowly towards the after deck. The group 
soon becamer aware of his approach. “ Mark 


Margaret’s bridal. 


45 


the difference/’ said Colonel Byerly ; they 
have already learned to respect him ; witness 
the effect of his presence ! ” — It was even so ; 
the song had ceased ; the shabby performer 
had slunk away ; with one or two exceptions, 
every countenance had assumed a graver 
expression ; and even Parson M’Ninny had 
thrown his unfinished cigar into the Ohio, and, 
having hastily adjusted the collar of his dicky, 
and brushed the tobacco embers from his 
waistcoat, rose at his approach.* 

“ I should have paid my respects to you 
before, sir,” said the young clergyman, ad- 
dressing the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny, “ but some 
friends, who are in feeble health, required my 
attention. I have come, rather to redeem my 
pledge, than with any expectation of produ- 
cing or experiencing a change of sentiment in 
you or myself. I have no desire, in this dis- 


* “ Turn, pietate gravem ac meritis si forte virum 
quem 

Conspexere, silent, arrectisque auribus adstant ; 
Iste regit dictis animos, et pectora mulcet” 

iEjy. 1. v. 151. 


46 


Margaret’s bridal. 


cussion to argue for victory. The subject is cer- 
tainly an important one, and ” — Well, 

well, sir,” said his opponent, with some impa- 
tience, ‘‘ the preface is certainly long enough 
already; you can proceed, and I will hear 
what you have to say, if you will confine 
yourself within reasonable bounds.” — The 
Rev. Mr. M’Ninny’s face was considerably 
flushed ; his brow was clouded ; and his words 
were indistinctly and sluggishly uttered. His 
reply to Mr. Egerton was so discourteous, that 
Colonel Byerly, whose prompt and open tem- 
per, and sincere respect for the rights of others, 
ever induced him to side with the aggrieved, 
could no longer keep silence. ‘‘ Mr. M’Nin- 
ny,” said he, “ this young gentleman is a 
stranger to me ; but 1 was so much gratified, 
by his manner of treating the subject, this 
morning, that, with your permission, I should 
be pleased to listen to his remarks, without any 
other limitation, in regard to time, than such 
as his own sense of propriety may indicate.” 
— ‘‘ Ditto to Colonel Byerly,” said the Ken- 
tuckian. — A murmur of approbation ran 


Margaret’s bridal. 


47 


through the assembled group. Certainly, 
certainly, most assuredly. Colonel JSyerly,’^ said 
Mr. M’Ninny, with sundry salams ; please 
to proceed, sir. I have quite forgotten at 
what point we broke off this morning.” — 
You were alluding, sir,” said Mr. Egerton, 
to the miracle at Cana, and you proposed 
certain questions. I will now answer those 
questions; or, rather, I will endeavor to an- 
swer the argument, which you intended, by 
those questions, to convey. Certainly our 
Savior converted water into wine, upon that 
occasion ; he was present, and, if you please, 
a guest ; and, though we know not the fact, it 
is quite probable he partook of the miraculous 
beverage. It is your object to employ this 
act of our Savior, as a precedent. To author- 
ize any act by a precedent, the act to be sus- 
tained must conform to the precedent. If our 
Lord took wine at a wedding, this surely is no 
precedent for my taking it, on other occasions, 
at home and abroad, in taverns and steam- 
boats. Then, again, it is not pretended, nor 
can it be presumed, that the wine at Cana 


48 


Margaret’s bridal. 


differed in strength from other wine, used at 
that time, in Galilee. Of course it could not 
be a mixture of the fermented juice of the 
grape and distilled spirit. Yet such is the 
wine commonly drunken at weddings and upon 
most other occasions ; and I doubt, sir, if, espe- 
cially at weddings, you ever drank any other 
wine, than such as contained a very considerable 
proportion of distilled spirit — a thing unused 
and unknown in our Savior’s time upon earth. 
The precedent, therefore, cannot apply, unless 
we employ the same unenforced wine as was 
at that time in use. Besides, there was noth- 
ing like a command, at Cana, to take wine. 
The guests might take it, or not, as they 
pleased.” — “ Very well, sir,” said Mr. 
M’Ninny, “ that is just the thing, for which we 
contend at the present day.” — I have al- 
ready remarked,” continued Mr. Egerton, 
that the wine at Cana was, beyond all doubt, 
a very different thing from modem wine, a more 
pure and a much less fiery beverage. Never- 
theless, as it was undoubtedly an intoxicating 
beverage, after fermentation had taken place, 


Margaret’s bridal. 


49 


I am by no means disposed to rest the argu- 
ment upon this circumstance alone. When 
we propose the pledge of total abstinence, vve 
are very frequently opposed by this objection 
— our Savior made wine, at Cana, *and- there- 
fore — for such is the absurd conclusion — • we 
ought not to abandon the use of wine mixed 
with distilled spirit^ as all modern wine is 
well known to be, with exceptions too unim- 
portant and too rare to require notice. Be- 
cause our Savior made such wine as the wine 
at Cana, and presented it to the guests, at a 
wedding feast, it is highly improper to propose 
the relinquishment of our modern enforced 
wine upon other occasions ! Total abstinence 
from all intoxicating liquors must therefore be 
deemed impracticable, because our Savior once 
set the mild wine of Galilee before the guests at 
a wedding feast ! Though our blessed Master did 
not command them to drink that wine, he, upon 
another occasion, did absolutely command us 
to abstain from drunkenness. Now, it is truly 
believed, by a very large and daily increasing 
number of Qur fellow-men, that we can more 


50 


Margaret’s bridal. 


effectually obey this, our Lord’s most positive 
command, by totally abstaining from all intox- 
icating liquors, than in any other manner. 
Suppose we were permitted to plead the 
infirmity of our nature before our divine Mas- 
ter, and ask if we might not be permitted, in 
aid of our weakness, to avoid these fountains 
of temptation in every form. Would he be 
very likely to refuse our importunity, if we 
were really in earnest, and remind us that the 
whole question was settled at the marriage of 
Cana in Galilee, and that total abstinence 
from wine was therefore offensive in his sight ? 
If such a supposition be not the very height 

of absurdity ” — my name an’t Boon 

Kennedy,” cried the Kentuckian, who had 
become deeply interested in the argument. 
“ Beg your pardon, sir, for interruptin on ye,” 
continued he, ‘‘ but I couldn’t hold in jest at 
that minnit.” 

A short pause ensued. “ I desire not to be 
one of those, who are more nice than wise,” 
said Mr. M’Ninny, “and I would caution 
you in regard to the danger of being overwise, 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


51 


or wise above what is written.” — Mr. Eger- 
ton, after a short silence, during which a faint 
smile played upon his pale features, expres- 
sive of his conviction that no further reply was 
required from him, proceeded as follows : — ‘‘I 
suggested, this morning, when you first alluded 
to the circumstance of taking wine at a wed- 
ding, that you could not be aware you had 
touched a chord of the most painful interest 
to me. Such, however, was the fact. Since 
our short separation I have asked myself, if I 
ought not to make a considerable personal 
sacrifice of my own feelings, for the benefit of 
others ; and I have decided, that I ought so 
to do. If you have no better employment, 
my friends, than to listen to a narrative, which 
may prove, in some of its details, not alto- 
gether uninteresting, and which perhaps may 
furnish a profitable warning for some of you, I 
will trespass upon your patience still further.” 
— The Rev. Mr. M’Ninny drew out his watch, 
with great formality, and began to gape. You 
may about as well put up your tarnip, stran- 
ger,” said the Kentuckian, who had observed 
5 


52 


Margaret’s bridal. 


the action ; ‘‘ this ’ere young man an’t agoin to 
run agin time, and them what’s sleepish may 
as well turn in. Won’t ye please to go 
ahead, sir,” turning to Mr. Egerton. — ‘‘We 
shall listen to your narrative,” said Colonel 
Byerly, “ I doubt not, with pleasure and 
profit.” 

“We frequently err, I am well aware,” 
continued Mr. Egerton, “ in the supposition, 
that certain occurrences must be interesting 
to all the world, because they are so to our- 
selves. If the simple narrative, which I am 
about to relate, should be found wearisome 
to any one of you, my friends, I shall not 
take it amiss, if the number of my auditors 
should become less and less, as I proceed in 
the relation. — Among the playmates of my 
earliest years, there was one, to whom I 
was attached, for various considerations, more 
firmly than to any other. Our parents were 
farmers, and their estates were separated by 
a winding brook, which, although easily 
forded by elder boys, was a perfect Rubicon 
to George Morgan and myself, when our 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


53 


acquaintance began. There was a rock in the 
middle of this run of water, and I well remem- 
ber the period of my existence, when it seemed 
to George and to me, as we stood upon our 
respective sides of this mighty barrier, nego- 
tiating an exchange between a -bunch of dai- 
sies and a straw of thimbleberries, that our 
ambition, in this present world, would be grati- 
fied to its utmost possible limit, if we could 
contrive a plan to get upon that rock, and, 
according to the phraseology of our cottage, 
eat our dippers together. Old Stubbs, a negro 
man, who had been long in the service of 
Farmer Morgan, and who was extremely fond 
of little George, comprehending our wishes, 
placed a board from each bank to the midway 
rock, over which we proceeded, with great 
delight, and sat down, side by side, and, in 
the language of another, ‘ swore perpetual 
amity.’ When I first perused the account of 
the shallop, moored in the middle of the river 
Audaye, in which Francis the First, after his 
long imprisonment, was permitted, for a mo- 
ment only, to see his children, the Dauphin 


54 


Margaret’s bridal. 


and Duke of Orleans, the recollection of our 
rock in the little rivulet came forcibly before 
me. Napoleon and Alexander, when they 
met upon ‘ the raft of Tilsit,’ in the middle' of 
the Niemen, embraced not with a thousandth 
part of the cordiality, which characterized 
our first interview upon the rock.* We did 
not proceed, like the great French robber and 
the greedy autocrat of all the Russias, to por- 
tion out the fair world between ourselves ; but 
we, then and there, established our future rela- 
tions, upon a basis exceedingly agreeable to 
the high contracting parties. It was agreed 
that George should, at all times, cross over 
and help himself to any flowers in my garden, 
and that I should have an uninterrupted range 
along the entire length of Thimbleberry wall. 
In short, we formed an alliance offensive and 
defensive forever. You will forgive me for 
dwelling thus minutely upon such compara- 
tively unimportant incidents as these. There 
are few occurrences, which memory recalls 


“ Sic parvis componere magna solebam.” 


Margaret’s bridal. 


55 


more easily or with a purer delight, than these 
recollections of our early days. 

‘‘ However important to ourselves, nothing, 
surely, would be more uninteresting to the 
world at large, than the detail of our juvenile 
years. Such occupations, such cares, such 
pleasures were ours, as ordinarily fall to the lot 
of the children of upright and industrious hus- 
bandmen. When I look around me, and 
institute a comparison, at the present day, I 
am rejoiced to believe, that our worthy parents 
have been as constantly and powerfully gov- 
erned, through life, by moral and religious 
principle, as any of their neighbors. 

“ When George Morgan had attained the age 
of eighteen years, his constitution, which was 
at no time, within my recollection, hale and 
robust, began to give such evidences of weak- 
ness, as made it apparent, that the labors of 
the farm were more than he could perma- 
nently endure. We had an old physician in 
our village, who emigrated many years before 
from Scotland — Dr. Sawney MThail. My 
recollections of the old gentleman are altogeth- 


56 


Margaret’s bridal. 


er agreeable. He had an unusually winning 
way with him, in his intercourse with children. 
Our clergyman, though a man of exemplary 
piety, was remarkable for an austerity of 
manners, borderi»g even upon roughness. It 
was a by-word among our young people, that 
we had rather take jalap from Dr. Sawney 
than gingerbread from Parson Scroggs. The 
doctor gave his opinion, that it was absolutely 
necessary for George Morgan to seek some 
other occupation, and that his physical strength 
was altogether unequal to the labors of the 
field. His father, who had the most implicit 
confidence in the doctor’s judgment, readily 
acquiesced in the decision. 

“ Our family were well aware that George 
Morgan had not the most vigorous constitu- 
tion, and hints had been occasionally dropped, 
that he might, at some time, not far distant per- 
haps, find it necessary to relinquish the farmer’s 
life. The tidings, when they came to us at 
last, were, nevertheless, entirely unexpected, 
and filled our little household with surprise, not 
altogether unmingled with pain. We had 


Margaret’s bridal. 


57 


assembled together, one summer evening, as 
usual. My father and myself had just hung 
our scythes upon the old oak before our door, 
and were entering our cottage ; my mother was 
preparing the tea-table, and my sister Mar- 
garet was at the ironing board, when Dr. 
M’Phail rode up on his old gray mare. ‘ Come 
in, doctor,’ cried my father; ‘we’re better 
pleased to see ye, than if we were ailing ; 
we’re just sitting down to table, and wife, 1 
see, has got some fine trout in the spider.’ — 
‘ Trout, mon ! ’ cried the doctor ; — ‘ baud your 
gait, ye jade,’ addressing his old mare, ‘and 
ni make your harden a wee bit lighter. — 
Aweel, gude wife,’ continued he, addressing 
my mother, ‘ I’ll taste your bannocks. Trout 
is it, ey ? ’ looking over my mother’s shoulder 
into the spider. — ‘Yes, doctor,’ said my 
mother, ‘ and you’re always welcome.’ — 

‘ I’ve ken’d that aboot twanty years, luckie,’ 
replied the doctor; ‘but I’ll jest gi’ the old 
mare a bidding.’ — ‘ My son shall take her 
home for you, doctor,’ said my father. — 

‘ Na, na,’ said the doctor, ‘ the callan’s 


58 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


waary o’ his day’s wark, an’ auld Dobbin kens 
the shart way weel enough.’ So saying, he 
threw the bridle over her neck, and, slapping 
her on the back, ‘ Gang hame, beastie,’ said 
he ; and away she went, like a well-trained 
trooper’s horse without its rider. ‘ She’s 
cannie,’ said the doctor ; ‘ she’ll be at her 
fother right soon ; an’ she’ll wait for ’em at 
the door to take off the bags first. If she 
should rowl, or rampauge it, there’d be meikle 
bad wark arnang the potions and the plasters, 
to be sure.’ — ‘Weel,’ resumed the doctor, 
as he took his seat in the arm-chair, which 1 
had placed for him near the window, ‘ weel, 
Georgy Morgan will be ganging fro’ ye soon ; 
he’s to larn the humanities at the univar- 
sity.’ — ‘How you talkl’ said my moth- 
er, suspending her operations. My sister 
Margaret, who had just taken a hot iron from 
the fire, set it down, almost involuntarily, 
upon her best collar, which she was preparing 
to iron, and stared at the doctor in utter aston- 
ishment. ‘ Hout, Margery,’ cried Doctor 
M’Phail, ‘ where’s the bogle that frights ye. 


Margaret’s bridal. 


59 


hiney ? I’m only telling ye, that Georgy 
Morgan’s to gang away to larn the humanities, 
and ye’re as clane bewildered as though I 
toult ye that he was a ghaist. Look there now, 
your hot iron has barnt clane through your 
napery.’ — ‘ Doctor,’ said I, while Margaret 
was recovering from her confusion, ^ is George 
really going to college ? ’ — ‘ It’s a’ settled,’ 
said the doctor, ‘ an’ ye may live to see him 
git a thump, afoor he dies, at the pupit o’ 
Parson Scroggs, if ony o’ it is left, whin the 
auld minister comes to rist fro’ his labors.’ 

The intelligence, communicated by Dr. 
M’Phail, certainly produced a solemnizing, per- 
haps a depressing effect upon our little circle ; 
though it might have been somewhat perplex- 
ing for some of us to analyze those feelings, 
which that intelligence produced. I felt that 
we were already separated — that 1 had al- 
ready lost the companion of my childhood, 
the friend of my youth. It appeared to me, 
that, while my own humble lot was fixed 
forever, his was a career, whose limit must 
depend upon his talent and application ; and 


60 


Margaret’s bridal. 


that he was to enter upon a path, whither it 
was impossible for me to follow. — ‘Well,’ 
said my mother, ‘ George Morgan will be a 
great man, one of these days, I suppose, and 
hold his head above us all, and forget his old 
friends, as like as not.’ — ‘ He is a worthy 
young man,’ said my father. — ‘ A bonny 
chiel,’ said the doctor, ‘ an’ he’ll na forget 
ane that its warth his while to remember. 
Georgy Morgan’s not the callan to gi’ never a 
thought to auld lang syne ; is he sic a loon as 
that, Margery Egerton ? ’ — This direct and 
energetic appeal from the good old doctor was 
too much for poor Margaret ; she buried her face 
in her hands and rushed out of the apartment. 
‘ Weel, weel,’ said the doctor, after she had 
gone, ‘ if Georgy Morgan were to see the puir 
thing rin away at the very sound o’ his name, 
I faar ’twould be like to take away his relish 
for the humanities ; but come, gude wife, let us 
taste o’ the trout and the bannocks ; are they 
meikle plenty in the burnie, Willie Egerton ? ’ 
turning to me. I replied in the affirmative, and 
told him that I had left a dozen of the best at 


Margaret’s bridal. 


61 


his lodging-house. ‘ Ah, Willie,’ said he, 
^ ye was a bonnie chiel yoursel, though 
Georgy was ever the mair patient listener o’ 
the twa. Don’t ye remember, whin I was 
repeating poor Bobby Burns’s Twa Dogs t’ye 
baith, how, in the most interesting part o’ it, 
ye ran off like mad after a moudiwort that 
crapt out o’ the wa’, ey, Willie ? Weel, it’s 
hard to part ye twa lads. Frind Egerton,’ 
continued the doctor, addressing my father, 
‘ Willie’s na the stoutest naather; why na 
lit ’em gang thegither, ey, mon ? ’ — ‘ O 
doctor,’ said my father, ‘ my neighbor, Mr. 
Morgan, is a great deal better off than I am, 
and George is an only child.’ — ‘ The 
charge will na be sa meikle more,’ said the 
doctor. — ‘ I have not the wherewithal,’ re- 
plied my father, ‘ to send my son to college, 
Dr. M’Phail ; it’s entirely out, of the question. 

I have other children to support, and ’ 

‘Weel, -weel,’ cried the doctor, ‘we say in 
the auld country, it matters na whether a 
thing cost a pund starling or a bawbee, if a 
mon has na got the bawbee. Willie,’ con- 


62 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


tinued the doctor, ‘ would ye like to gang, ey, 
chiel ? ’ — I replied that I did not like to 
burden my father, and that I was aware my 
services were necessary upon the farm. — ‘ I 
am afraid the trout are not cooked to your 
liking, doctor,’ said my mother. — ‘ Troth, 
an’ they are, goody Egerton,’ replied the doc- 
tor, who, for a brief space, seemed to be play- 
ing idly with his knife and fork ; ‘ but I was, 
just then, sitting under the roof o’ my ain bien 
house upon Tweed’s side. I’m there in a 
twinkling. But all that I loved are under 
the sod ; there’s na kith nor kin o’ mine in all 
Scotland now. And so ye’ll na send Willie to 
larn the humanities, ey, neighbor Egerton ? ’ 
— ‘ If I could see my way clear in the mat- 
ter,’ replied my father, ‘ I should have no 
objection ; but as it is, it seems entirely out 
of the question.’ — ‘Weel, now,’ said the 
doctor, ‘ in sic a matter can ye na club the 
siller amang yourselves ? It’ll be na sma’ thing 
for Willie, ye ken, and he’s your only son, 
neighbor Egerton.’ — ‘ If George Morgan is 
to go,’ said my mother, ‘I see not why 


Margaret’s bridal. 


63 


our William might not make as good a figure 
as he or any other lad, I don’t care who he is. 
Sukey Morgan will hold her head high enough, 
I guess, if a son of hers ever gets to college.’ 
— ‘The question, wife,’ said my father, ‘is 
not what sort of a figure William would make, 
nor how high Sukey Morgan would hold her 
head if George should go to college, but how 
we can find the means of supporting William at 
the university. I owe almost nothing beside the 
old mortgage, and that is well nigh paid off. 
It has been my hope, and the end of all my 
labor and saving, for many years, to clear the 
estate, and leave it unencumbered to my wife 
and children when I die. The thought of in- 
creasing my debt is ’ — ‘ O, father,’ said 

I, ‘ don’t think of it ; I don’t care a fig about 
going to college.’ — ‘ Don’t tell a lee, Willie,’ 
said the old doctor, with a knowing look ; ‘ are 
ye na the very chiel yoursel that tould auld 
Master Moody ye’d be mair than willing to 
gie ane o’ your twa een an’ ye could be per- 
mitted to study with the tither, foor years in 
the uni varsity ? ’ — ‘ Dr. M’Phail,’ said my 


64 


Margaret’s bridal. 


sister Margaret, who had returned to the 
apartment, and taken her seat quietly at the 
tea-tahle, ‘ how much would it cost ? Would 
it cost more than a hundred dollars ? ’ — ‘A 
hunder dollars ! ’ cried the doctor, lifting up 
his hands ; ‘ hout, lassie, to be sure, and an 
unco parcel o’ the siller beside. But I ken 
what ye maan weel enough. It’s the hunder 
dollars ye’re thinking o’ that were lift to ye, 
by the will of your auld aunt Hepsy Harra- 
den, and it saartis ye’re willing to gie the 
whole hunder away for Willie to be educated 
at the univarsity.’ — ^ I am, indeed, doctor,’ 
said Margaret, while the tear glistened in her 
eye. — ‘ Hout, tout, bonnie lassie,’ cried the 
doctor, ‘ na a dollar o’ it shall iver gang that 
gait, whiles Sawney M’Phail’s the executor 
o’ auld Hepsy Harraden’s last will and testa- 
ment. But supposing I choose to take the 
cost and* charge o’ Willie’s laming upon my 
ain self, who has a better right? I halp’d 
him, the wee bairn that he was, into this 
warld o’ care, and he’s iver been a guid chiel, 
bating a leetle inattention, whin I’m repeating 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


65 


a Scotch ballad or sic like. Now ye ken, as I 
toult ye, that Fve naather kith nor kin ; and so, 
neighbor Egerton, if ye’ll na stand i’ the way. 
I’ll pay the scot, and ilka bawbee for Willie’s 
laming the humanities shall come out my ain 
pocket, mon ; so make yourself aisy.’ — ^ God 
reward you, doctor,’ said my father, with a 
faltering voice ; ‘ I fear I never shall be able 
to do so, myself.’ — ‘ Dear doctor,’ cried my 
mother, as her eyes were filling with grateful 
tears, ‘ you have eaten nothing ; do let me put 
a hot trout upon your plate;’ at the same 
moment, in her confusion, transferring one from 
the spider to her own instead of the doctor’s. 
Poor Margaret was thoroughly intoxicated 
with delight. — ‘ Dr. M’Phail ! ’ she cried, as 
she sprang from her chair, and, throwing her 
arms around the old man’s neck, almost 
smothered him with kisses and tears. The 
kind-hearted old gentleman was himself over- 
come by these simple testimonies of grateful 
respect. — ‘ I maun be ganging,’ said he, as 
he wiped the tear from his eye ; ‘ I maun be 
ganging. I did na ken I was sic an auld fool 


66 


Margaret’s bridal. 


as I am.’ He disengaged himself from Mar- 
garet’s affectionate embrace, and, giving my 
parents a hearty shake by the hand, he took 
his leave. The tumult of happiness in my 
own bosom I can no more now describe, than I 
could then control it. The highest object of 
my ambition appeared to be already within 
my grasp. I had carefully forborne to give 
my father pain, by expressing a wish, which 
I knew he had not the power to gratify ; yet 
among the most attractive of all those gay 
imaginings, those castles, which 1 certainly 
supposed were castles in the air, was the vision 
of a collegiate education. I was utterly un- 
able to make the good doctor the slightest 
acknowledgment. I slunk out of the room, 
and, after his departure, ran across a wood- 
lot to intercept him, in a solitary part of the 
road, which I knew he would take on his 
way homeward. I overtook him precisely as 
I had expected ; but, when I had leapt over 
the wall, and seized him by the hand, I could 
not utter an intelligible sentence. ‘ Doctor,’ 
said I, — ^ Dr. M’Phail, you don’t know ’ 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


67 


— ‘ Yes, I do, Willie,’ said he, comprehend- 
ing my embarrassment,-^ I ken it a’. Gang 
hame, chiel, gang hame, and tell your father, 
that the sooner ye’re with Master Moody, the 
sooner ye’ll be ganging to the univarsity.’ 

The detail of our preparatory course is 
of little importance. Dr. M’Phail made the 
necessary arrangements ; my father soon em- 
ployed a hired man to supply my place upon 
the farm ; and George Morgan and myself 
exchanged our rustic occupation for the pur- 
suits of literature, under the direction of Master 
Moody ; and, in the ordinary course of time, 
were prepared for the university. 

‘‘ Chemical results from certain combina- 
tions are not more surely anticipated, than the 
advantages of a liberal, 'as we commonly ex- 
press it, meaning a collegiate, education. To 
say nothing of that difference in the result, 
which must necessarily depend upon difference 
of intellectual vigor and application, there is 
manifestly a superior ability in some to pass on 
securely, amidst those numerous temptations, 
which are spread abroad in the purlieus of 
6 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


every university. When we contemplate the 
striking deficiency of moral training in some, 
whose good moral character is duly certified 
at the time of their admission, and the extreme, 
constitutional volatility of others, there is 
nothing unreasonable in the supposition, that 
there are, in certain individuals, "peculiar apti- 
tudes for destruction. It may follow from these 
considerations, that there are some, whose 
temperament is so poorly calculated for all 
the chances and changes of a college life, that 
the difficulties, attendant upon some other sys- 
tem of education, whatever they may be, are 
outweighed, by the manifest perils of an ex- 
periment at the university. 

“ George Morgan had been reared by his 
parents, with a strict regard for moral and 
religious principle. He had always been 
remarkable for the vivacity of his disposition ; 
his habits, previously to his admission to 
the university, had been correct and even ex- 
emplary. But the excitement, the novelty, 
the temptations of a college life were too much 
for him. It would be unnecessary — to me it 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


69 


would be a most painful task — to give you a 
minute history of the decline and fall of my 
unhappy friend. He commenced his unfor- 
tunate career in social drinking, and in those 
college clubs, which have proved the primary 
schools, where many have acquired their first 
lessons of intemperance. At the close of his 
junior year, he was withdrawn from the uni- 
versity by his unhappy parents, on account of 
his notoriously intemperate habits. My own 
unwearied solicitation, the constant appeals 
of his parents, and of good old Dr. M’Phail, 
the admonitions of those among the college 
government, who took a special interest in his 
welfare, were unavailing. His separation 
from the university appeared not to be at- 
tended with those beneficial effects, which had 
been anticipated by his parents and friends. 
The virus, if I may be allowed the expression, 
seemed to have mingled with his blood. The 
fact could no longer be concealed. College 
wine, which had unquestionably been the 
great first cause of his ruin, speedily gave 
place to village ivim — George Morgan was a 


70 


Margaret’s bridal. 


drunkard ! His father bore up under this 
terrible affliction, with a measure of fortitude, 
entirely unexpected by his friends ; but bis 
poor mother was completely overthrown. 
Whenever my parents attempted to offer her 
any species of consolation, ‘Ah, neighbor 
Egerton,’ she would say, ‘ if it had been your 
William, you could have borne it better, for 
you would not have been entirely bereaved ; 
you could have turned for comfort and support 
to your Other children ; but it is a grievous 
thing,’ she would say, while the tears ran 
down her cheeks, ‘ it is a grievous thing to be 
the thankless mother of an only child ! ’ 

“ There was one, upon whose gentle spirit 
this misery fell like the blasting mildew upon 
the tender leaf. The attachment, between 
George Morgan and my sister Margaret, was 
a matter of general notoriety over the village. 
It had grown with their growth and strength- 
ened with their strength ; yet there had never 
been any formal understanding upon this sub- 
ject, between our respective parents. I once 
heard Mr. Morgan say to my father, as we 


Margaret’s bridal. 


71 


were returning from meeting, one Sabbath 
afternoon, pointing at the same time over his 
shoulder towards George and Margaret, who 
had separated themselves from our little group, 
as usual, and were lingering far behind — ^ If 
rny boy and your girl,’ said he, ‘ keep on as 
they have done, a few years longer, I shouldn’t 
be surprised if they finally tied themselves and 
our two estates together.’ — ^ I’ll put my girl,’ 
said my father, ^ against - your boy, but her 
part of my little homestead against all yours, 
neighbor Morgan, would scarcely be fair.’ — 
‘ A good wife never made a poor man poorer,’ 
said the other, ^ and broad acres never helped 
any man to bear a vixen’s tongue the better. 
It’s a fair trade, friend Egerton ; IMargaret’s a 
good girl ; let ’em settle it their own way.’ — 
‘ I’m content,’ replied my father ; ‘ and if she 
proves as good a wife to George, as she has 
been a daughter to me, the bargain may be a 
fair one after all.’ 

‘‘ The subject of George Morgan’s intem- 
perance was so exceedingly painful to my 
sister, that we seldom alluded to it, unless 


72 


MARGARIiT S BRIDAL. 


when introduced by herself. If his reforma- 
tion could have been achieved, by the tears 
and entreaties of this poor girl, it would surely 
have been accomplished. ^Her extreme soli- 
citude preyed upon her spirits, and her health 
began visibly to decline. George still occa- 
sionally visited at our house, and, upon these 
occasions, his behavior was such as to encour- 
age our hopes, which were invariably extin- 
guished in the course of two or three days, by 
the tidings of some new indiscretion. Dr. 
M’Phail earnestly advised, that Margaret 
should refuse to see him, except in the pres- 
ence of her parerits, unless he thoroughly 
reformed ; that she should dismiss him formally 
as her suitor, and, as far as possible, from her 
thoughts. George Morgan’s mother protested 
with great earnestness against this advice. 
‘ You will drive my poor child,’ said" she, ‘ to 
absolute despair. He believes that he has but 
one friend upon earth ; and if he is to be told 
that he has not any thing to hope from her af- 
fection, there will remain nothing between him 
and utter destruction. Save my poor boy. 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


73 


Margaret ; it is yourself alone that can do 
this. No one has such an influence over him. 
He loves you better than any thing in this 
world.’ — ‘ Na, na, goody Morgan/ said the 
doctor; ‘ he has unco mair luve for his cursed 
buttle.’ — ‘ O, Dr. M’Phail/ cried Mrs. Mor- 
gan, ‘ how can you be so cruel as to destroy the 
only hope we have of George’s reformation ; it 
is the only life-boat that can save my unhappy 
son.’ — ‘ It’s na in my nature, goody Morgan, 
to be cruel,’ replied the doctor, as he brushed 
away the tear which this exhibition of mater- 
nal anguish had brought into his eye ; ^ and 
as for the life-boat, that’s to save your chiel, 
goody Morgan, it’s mair o’ a puir frail thing 
than ye ken for, and mair likely to gang down 
amang the troubled waters, than to gie halp 
to anither.’ 

“ My parents were sufficiently impressed 
with Dr. M’Phail’s opinion, and urged every 
argument in its favor. For several days after 
this conversation, my sister observed an un- 
usual silence, and confined herself as much as 
possible to her private apartment. We had 


74 Margaret’s bridal. 

become extremely anxious for the result. One 
Sabbath morning, when we had prepared to 
go to meeting, and were sitting in silence, 
awaiting the sound of the village bell, my 
sister came down with a smile upon her pale 
features, so perfectly serene, that my mother 
expressed her satisfaction, at the improvement 
in her appearance. ‘ My dear father and 
mother,’ said Margaret, after a short pause, 
^ how truly 1 love you both ! — How I shall 
ever bless you for bringing me up in the nur- 
ture and admonition of the Lord ! — for teach- 
ing me to love his tabernacles ! — for clasping 
my infant hands in prayer ! It is thus I have 
gathered strength upon the present occasion. 
My mind is now at ease. The services of 
the sanctuary will afford me additional support 
— this day, George will surely abstain from 
his habit sufficiently to enable me to bid him 
farewell. — I dare not tempt the vengeance of 
Heaven, by wedding a drunkard.’ She then 
requested me to ask George to meet her for a 
few moments, that evening, at the willows. 
These willows skirted the river road, as it was 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


75 


called, for the length of half a mile, and 
formed one of the boundaries of the Morgan 
farm. The interview was brief, but undoubt- 
edly attended with great suffering to both 
parties. Apprehensive that she might not be 
able to sustain herself, I had secretly followed 
her steps, and stationed myself at a convenient 
distance. George was first at this well-known, 
and oft-frequented place of meeting. His 
appearance was more respectable than usual. 
He had evidently paid more than ordinary at- 
tention to his attire, and was not, apparently, 
under the influence of liquor. When Mar- 
garet approached, he turned hastily to meet 
her, with an expression of great satisfaction 
upon his countenance ; for it was a long time 
since she had consented to meet him at the 
willows, and her manners towards him, for 
many months, had been marked with that air 
of painful solemnity, which his conduct would 
be so likely to produce. ‘ I am rejoiced to 
meet you here once more, dear Margaret,’ 
said he, extending his hand. She stood before 
him like a statue, but so greatly agitated, that 
7 


76 


Margaret’s bridal. 


1 could plainly perceive the tremulation of her 
whole figure. The smile of satisfaction, which 
lighted up his features, when they first met, 
had speedily vanished, and given place to 
an expression of astonishment, mingled with 
dread ; for I have no doubt, that, with a recol- 
lection of her previous intimations, he already 
began to anticipate the object of her summons. 
‘ Will you not give me your hand, Margaret ? ’ 
said he, once more extending his own, and 
gazing intently upon her pale and agitated 
features. — ‘ George,’ she replied, ‘ I have 
given you my whole heart. I fondly expect- 
ed to have given you my hand, at the altar, 
before God and man, and to have walked 
through this fair world with you, for my best 
earthly friend. I would have given you, 
George Morgan, all that a poor girl has to 
give, but her hopes of happiness, in a better 
world. But the vision is past — I have come 
to bid you farewell.’ — ‘ Margaret,’ he replied, 
‘ you have often said, that you would never 
break your word. You have promised to be 
mine.’ — ‘ I promised to be the wife of George 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


77 


Morgan, whose dear, bright eye and ruddy 
cheek I well remember : when I made that 
promise, could he suppose I would ever listen 
to a drunkard, who came, in his name and 
stead, to claim the privileges of a lover ! This 
may sound harshly, but I have sought the path 
of duty, with many tears and many prayers, 
and therein will I walk.’ I had not given my 
poor sister credit for half the firmness and en- 
ergy, which she exhibited upon the present 
occasion. ‘Margaret,’ said he, after a short 
pause, ‘ I think I comprehend all this : a 
woman’s fancy is liable to change ; and I 
have lately heard of a visitor at your father’s 
house.’ — ‘ George — George,’ said she, with 
a trembling voice, ‘ God grant you may reform 
and be happy. This is a cruel speech, 
George Morgan : should you live to shed a 
tear upon my grave, it will be upon the grave 
of Margaret Egerton. Farewell; my peace 
requires, that henceforth I should study to 
forget you. I have no need of these memo- 
rials any more.’ As she uttered these words, 
she tendered him a small parcel, which he 


78 


Margaret’s bridal. 


seemed almost involuntarily to receive into his 
hand, continuing silently to gaze upon her 
retiring steps, with an expression of amaze- 
ment. When she had passed entirely from 
his view, he sat down upon a broad stone, by 
the road-side, still holding the package in his 
hand. His countenance was full of sadness. 
Wounded pride had prompted his sugges- 
tion, respecting the visitor at our house. 
He knew Margaret had loved him with a 
perfectly single-hearted devotion. In a little 
time, he began to open the package, and as 
he drew forth a volume — a ring — his letters 
from the university — and other tokens of his 
affection in happier days, — the energies of his 
heart — and a warmer beat not in any bosom 
— broke forth in a perfect tumult of anguish. 
^ Merciful God 1 ’ he exclaimed, ‘ has it come 
to this ! ^ The tears poured down his cheeks 
in a torrent, and he sobbed aloud. I know 
not that I ever felt deeper pity for any human 
being. After he had continued thus, for a 
considerable space of time, I drew nearer, 
though still concealed from his observation. 


Margaret’s bridal. 


79 


He began to gather up and replace the several 
articles, which Margaret had returned to him. 
‘ A drunkard ! ’ he exclaimed ; ‘ even she 
calls me a drunkard ! Men may call me so ; 
but to be proclaimed a drunkard by an angel’s 
voice ! I am then entirely forsaken. Mar- 
garet has bid me farewell ! Merciful God, 
have mercy upon me, and save me from my- 
self! ’ — As I looked upon the clasped hands 
and uplifted eyes of this wretched young man, 
streaming with tears, I could no longer restrain 
the impulse of my soul, and cried aloud, 
‘ Amen and amen I ’ 

“ He started from his seat, half offended 
by this sudden interruption. He dashed 
the tears from his eyes ; pride, mortification, 
resentment, were already at work within, and 
had begun to manifest their influence upon 
the features of my unhappy friend. — ‘ Mr. 
Egerton,- said he, ‘ you have surprised me at 
a moment of unusual weakness.’ — ‘ Mr. Eger- 
ton ! ’ I replied, seizing him by the hand — 
‘ George — George Mojrgan, my friend and 
companion from the cradle, let there be no 


80 


Margaret’s bridal. 


formality between us, I beseech you : do not 
call that a moment of weakness, in which you 
have been able to seek for comfort and sup- 
port where alone they can be found. O, 
George, my friend, renew those supplications 
at the throne of grace. Repeat them from 
day to day — from hour to hour. At first, they 
may be little more than brief ejaculations, 
like that, which I just now heard you utter. 
Brief as they are, yet, if sincere, God will 
listen. Erelong they will become continued, 
fervent, habitual prayer, which a merciful 
God will surely answer. Dear friend of my 
youth, shake off this accursed habit, for the 
sake of your friends.’ — ^ They already de- 
spise me,’ he replied. ‘ Reform then,’ said I, 
‘ for your own sake.’ — ‘ I care not what be- 
comes of me,’ said he. — ‘ Will you not make 
the effort for the sake of your old father ? ’ — 
‘ He has cast me from him, and treats me 
harshly,’ he replied. — ‘ There is another,’ I 
rejoined : ‘ will you not renounce this sin, 
which so easily besets you, for the sake of my 
unhappy sister ? ’ — ‘ She despises me,’ he re- 


Margaret’s bridal. 


81 


plied ; ‘ she has just now bid me farewell. It 
is not worth your while to cast your thought 
upon me. There is not a person upon earth, 
who does not view me with contempt.’ — 
‘ Dear George,’ said I, ^ it is not so. Can 
you not summon to your aid the best faculties 
of your nature ? Can you not solemnly resolve, 
by God’s help, to relinquish this unnatural 
gratification, for the sake of your poor mother ? 
Would you not do more even than I ask to 
cast that sun-light of joy, which your refor- 
mation would produce, upon her declining 
years ? ’ — ‘ My poor mother ! ’ he exclaimed, 
after a moment’s pause. ‘ O, William, I was 
wrong ; there is one who does not despise 
me. She has ever loved me ; and when my 
father has censured her, for not adopting to- 
wards me a course, as harsh as his own, her 
constant reply has been, He is my child ; 
he is my only child.” — O, my poor mother ! ’ 
he again exclaimed, ^ how much anguish I 
have caused her ! ’ — ‘ How much happiness 
it is in your power to bestow ! ’ I rejoined, 
grasping his hand. We sat for a few mo- 


82 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


merits in silence ; and while I uttered a silent 
and earnest prayer to God on his behalf, he 
bowed down his head like a bulrush, and the 
tears began to flow. I improved the occasion 
to the very best of rny ability. Suffice it to 
say, that God crowned my labors with the 
most perfect success. That Sabbath evening, 
a temperance lecture was delivered in our vil- 
lage, and among those, whose names were 
enrolled with the members of the society, was 
George Morgan. 

“No tongue can faithfully describe the 
happiness, which these tidings diffused in our 
two cottages. I must leave this matter to the 
hearer’s imagination, which I may do the 
more confidently, if he happen to have been, 
at some period of his existence, an intem- 
perate man, and, by his reformation, to have 
wiped the tears from the eyes of a broken- 
hearted mother. 

“ The' Temperance Society in our village 
was, like all others in existence at that time, 
based upon the principle of abstinence from 
ardent spirit. The philosophy of temperance 


MARGARET S BRIDAL. 


83 


was, at that time, imperfectly understood, by 
the great mass of mankind. However obvi- 
ous the fact, that the same means, which so 
notoriously produced personal, domestic, and 
national drunkenness of old, will produce the 
same effect, at the present day, this consid- 
eration seemed, until of late, to be entirely 
overlooked. 

“ Eighteen months had passed away, since 
George Morgan became a member of the 
society ; and, during this period, his deport- 
ment had given entire satisfaction to his 
friends. He had resumed the lighter labors 
of the farm, and entirely gathered up his fallen 
respectability. He had long renewed his 
visits at our house. My sister Margaret had 
received him into favor, and it was finally 
settled that they were to be married. 

‘‘Their wedding-day came at last. The 
friends and connections of our families were 
invited of course. Old Dr. M’Phail was as 
merry as a grig, saving that, now and then, 
something would be sure to remind him of the 
‘ banks and braes,’ and almost force the tear 


84 


Margaret’s bridal. 


into his eye. Parson Scroggs performed the 
marriage service. After the ceremony was 
over, wine was handed to the company. 
When it was offered to George Morgan, he 
refused it. ‘ Why, Georgy, mon, na take a 
glass at your ain w^edding ? ’ said the doctor. 
— ‘ I’ve drank nothing stronger than water, 
doctor, for nearly two years,’ he replied, ' and 
I guess I better not.’ — ^ Weel, weel, said the 
doctor, ‘ may be the chiel’s unco right, though 
a glass at his ain wedding would na be sic a 
bad thing, to be sure.’ — ‘ Why, George,’ cried 
my sister, who was in remarkably fine spirits, 

‘ not take a glass of wine with your bride! 

‘ There’s high authority for wine at a wed- 
ding,’ said Parson Scroggs, as he drank off 
his°glass.’ — ' Come, fie, George,’ said my 
sister, ‘ take a glass of wine on your wedding- 
day, or the folks will think strange of it.’ — 
^ Well, Margaret,’ said he, ‘ if you will have it 
so.’ Accordingly he took his glass. It may 
seem unaccountable to some of you, but his 
fate was sealed. From that moment he be- 
came a drunkard. That fatal glass repro- 


Margaret’s bridal. 


85 


duced his relish for strong drink, and plunged 
my poor sister into unutterable misery ; for 
she cannot to this hour be persuaded that she 
was not the positive cause of his second fall. 

After the first glass, he took another and 
another, insisting, at last, upon drinking with 
every member of the company. He became 
thoroughly intoxicated. When reproved by 
Parson Scroggs for his intemperance, ‘ Bless 
your soul, parson,’ said he, ‘ there’s high 
authority for wine at a wedding ! ’ F rom this 
moment his habits became worse than ever. 
When rebuked, he would often say, ^ Yov 
should not have given a wild beast, whom 
you had tamed, a fresh taste of blood.’ 

Poor George Morgan is no more. He has 
been dead now more than two years. ]\Iy 
sister’s health is shattered, and her mind is 
affected, by this domestic calamity. So much 
for wine at a w^edding. Whenever I see it 
introduced, or hear it proposed, upon such 
occasions, I very naturally think of my sister 
Margaret’s bridal.” 

Mr. B^arton concluded his narrative. We 


86 


Margaret’s bridal. 


were all solemnized by the simple recital. I 
looked to see what effect it had produced 
upon the Rev. Mr. M’Ninny : his head was 
resting on his arm, which was upon the 
tafferel of the steamboat — he was fast 
asleep. 

As we separated, the Kentuckian was ear- 
nestly employed in persuading Mr. Egerton to 
go to Boon’s Lick and relate the story of Mar- 
garet’s bridal to Parson Roundy. 




; Frum the Philadelphia Observer. 

I “ There are prol)al)ly no publications tliat have accomplished 
more for the cause of temperance than tliis series of 'I'ales. There 
is no reader of the linjilish lancnage, with so humble an under- 
standing, nor one so learned, that he may not read either of these 
stories with pleasure and with profit. They are all founded on 
fact; and, w'hile they present exceedingly graphic and striking 
views of life and cliara( ter, afford the most perfect illustrations 
of the evils arising from the use of intoxicating liquors, and of the . 
benefits to be derived from a life of temperance, morality, and | 
religion.” f 

From the Journal of the .American Temperance Union. | 

“ We say, let these tales be widely circulated through the land. { 
Let them be given to ev. ry 3 mung man and maiiien, and to every | 
child in our Sabbath schools ; — above all, let them be thrust into t 
the house of every distiller and rum-seller ; — and if they do not > 
break up, by their itifiuen e, their horrid business, it is because 
that business has destroyed every feeling of humanity and ten- 
derness in their breasts.” 


They are all founded on fact, and “ composed in a style of | 
much eloquence, force, and humor ; their language adapted to j 
the most ordinary capacity, and, at the same time, pure and > 
•sufficiently elevated ; the narrative glowing, and colored highly | 
enough to awaken deep interest in the progressive development | 
^ of character and incident; the argument, which the writer 
skilfully throws out, incapable of refutation, and yet presented 
and urged in a mild and tolerant spirit; they are, in every point 
of view, an ornament to our literature, and might be made a 
most powerful aid in the diffusion of correct principles.” 

The series now comprises nineteen numbers, bound together 
in six volumes. Price, $2 75, in extra cloth, and $3, in strong 
leather binding. 

Would some friend of Temperance in each town take il upon 
himself to see that every social and school library in his neighborhood 
was supplied with these volumes, incalculable good would result to the 
community. 

WHIPPLE & DAMRELL, Publishers, 

No. 9, Cornhrll, Boston. 

Sold also by Scofield & Voorhies, 118 Nassau Street, New 
York, and A. Flint, 223 Arch Street, Philadeljihia. 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


TEMPE] 




0 002 296 499 9 ^ 


No. 1. — GOLD RING. — Price, 6cts. j 5 3 per hundred. 
No» 2. — WILD DICK. — Price,6cts. ; 5 4 per hundred. 
No. 3.— I AiM AFRAID THERE IS A GOD.— Price, 
6 cts. *, $ 4 per hundred. 

No. 4c— A SECTARIAN THING.— 13 cts. j 54perhund. 
No. 5. — GROGGY H.\RBOR. — Sets.; ^ 5 per hund. 


No. 6.— RIGHT OPPOSITE.— 8 cts.; ^Sperhund. 

No. 7. — FRITZ HAZELL. — 12.^ cts. ; Jji 10 per huiid. 
No. 8.— JOHNNY HODGES.— 6 cts. ; ^3.50 per hund. j 
No. 9. — A WORD IN SEASON. — 6 cts. ; ^ 4 per hund. [ 
No. 10.— SEED TIME AND HARVEST.— Price, 6 
cts. ; $ 3 per hundred. 


No. 11.— AN IRISH HEART.— 20 cts. i 5 16 per hund. 
No. 12.— WELL ENOUGH FOR THE VULGAR.— 
Price, 12^ cts. ; 5 ^0 P^r hundred. 


No. 13.— NANCY LE BARON.— 12ii cLs. ; $ 10 per hund. 

No. 14 KITTY GRAFTON.— 17“cts.; 514perhund. 

No. 15.— TOO FAST AND TOO FAR.— Price, 6 cts. ; 
^ 4 per hundred. 


No. 16 THE STAGE-COACH.— Price, 50 cts. 


No. 17.— THE LIFE-PRESERVER.— 6 cts.; 54 hund. 
No. 18. — AS A iMEDICINE. — 20 cts. ; .Silt) per hund. 
No. 19.— THE PROPHETS! WHERE ARE THEY? 
6 cts. ; $ 4.00 per hund. 


No. 20 MARGARET’S 

per hund. 


BRIDAL.— 12^ cts.; ^10 


Vo!s. /., //:, HI, IV., V., 17., hound in cloth, S%lo the 

set — strong sheep binding, $ 3.00. 


